A Child's Love
by Ness Frost
Summary: Sometimes people let relationships fall by the wayside not because they don't care, but because they do. My take on why Piccolo and Gohan drifted apart after the Cell Games.


I know I said I was working on a longer story, but it's going to be awhile before it's done. So here's something to tide people over in the meantime.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** If I owned _Dragon Ball Z_, I think I'd have given Tien, Yamcha, and Piccolo a spinoff each. Poor non-Saiyans, always left out in the cold...

* * *

"_Daddy!_"

There was a surge of pressure against his mind, the pain of another mind resisting an unexpected intrusion. Gritting his teeth, Piccolo forced back the pain and clamped down on his concentration. Hard.

He had to.

He had been meditating at the Lookout when his sensitively tuned mind had picked out Gohan's cries. As fast as he could fly, he had been at the boy's house, only to find the lights out and the occupants asleep. In Gohan's case, however, that sleep was far from peaceful.

So now, Piccolo found himself hovering in the lotus position outside the boy's window, reaching out through their mental bond and trying to impart some of his own calm to his student. So far, his success had been limited.

At least he knew that his presence had helped, however minutely. The moment he made the connection, he had felt Gohan latch onto him, unconsciously, much as a drowning man will clutch at a piece of driftwood. Had they been in the physical plane, he was certain that Gohan would have had his arms wrapped around Piccolo's waist or leg with just as much determination.

Still, it was far from adequate. Over the course of the night he had caught glimpses of his student's nightmares, and over and over again he had seen images of all the people Gohan cared about being brutally murdered, their bodies mangled almost beyond recognition. Dead Krillin. Dead ChiChi. Dead Piccolo.

Dead Goku…

Snarling, Piccolo once again forced his focus to the forefront of his mind, and then past it, until it spilled over into Gohan's. For a few blessed minutes the boy's features relaxed into something like true sleep, but then Gohan's mouth twisted into a grimace and he let out a cry, his back arching as he fought against whatever nightmare had invaded his sleep this time. The sheets were tangled around him, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.

Elsewhere in the house, there was the sound of rustling cloth, and someone else's feet hitting the floor. Sudden light spilled from the edges of Gohan's door, and then the door opened, revealing a feminine silhouette against the square of light.

"Gohan…" ChiChi moved into the room, her footfalls light. Stopping at the head of the bed, she paused for a moment before reaching out to place a hand on Gohan's forehead.

Piccolo froze. Right at the moment ChiChi had eyes only for her son, but the light still spilling out from the hallway was now falling directly onto him, and he knew that his white cape and turban would stand out like a beacon in the night. There was, however, still a chance that he might be able to avoid a confrontation with Goku's harpy of a widow, if only she didn't look up…

ChiChi suddenly paused midway through brushing Gohan's hair from his forehead. Slowly, as if in a daze, she raised her head.

Their eyes met.

Shit.

Though Piccolo's stomach lurched at the thought of the inevitable conflict, he clenched his jaw with determination. She might have terrorized Goku while he was alive and even intimidated both of them into testing for a driver's license, but Piccolo was not going to back down this time. Frying Pan or no Frying Pan, Gohan's wellbeing was more important than anything she could do to him, and he was not going to leave no matter what she said or did.

He waited. Seconds passed. ChiChi continued to stroke Gohan's hair as she stared out the window at him; Piccolo continued to send his calm through their link as he stared back at her. The seconds ticked on, but no Frying Pan was forthcoming.

Then, ever so slowly, she nodded. Reaching behind her, she took hold of the chair at Gohan's desk and dragged it over so she could sit down. Piccolo, seeing this, allowed his body to relax ever so slightly as he also returned his full attention to what he had been doing before.

Both of them spent the rest of the night there in silence, for once in their lives completely unified in purpose.

* * *

He was wandering again.

Frowning, Piccolo brought his meditation to a halt as he gazed out over the edge of the Lookout. Gohan was moving away from his home – but to what purpose? His speed was too slow for flight; he must have been on foot, and Piccolo doubted he had left the house with the intention of training.

As a matter of fact, Gohan had already gone out several times this way, and Piccolo thought it likely that he was the only one who had noticed. He didn't think that Gohan knew that he knew: he seemed to be keeping his power level suppressed on purpose, but few if any were as attuned to the boy's _ki_ as Piccolo was.

Light footsteps behind him, accompanied by the rustling of cloth: Dende had come to stand beside him, gripping the staff that was still bigger than he was. "He's going out again," the younger Namekian said quietly.

"Can you see what he's doing?"

In answer, Dende opened a telepathic link, showing Piccolo what he could see from the Guardian's privileged standpoint. Gohan was indeed on foot, meandering through the woods near his home. Once in a while he would stop for a moment, looking about him as if admiring the scenery. He might have simply been stretching his legs, using the pleasant day to go nature viewing.

He had a cheerful smile plastered onto his face.

Though Gohan did not seem to be going in any special direction, Piccolo soon deduced that his pauses were not random: he was not admiring the wildlife or enjoying the beauty of nature. He was examining the lay of the land.

Piccolo would know. After all, he had once taught Gohan how to do just that.

The two Namekians continued to watch as Gohan continued to wander, wondering just what goal he had in mind.

Then, Gohan found what he was looking for.

It was a place like any other: trees spread their branches overhead, birds flitted from twig to twig, sunlight filtered through the leaves to dapple the forest floor. But the foliage grew just a little bit thicker here, the shadows were deeper, and there, in between two wedged rocks, was a nook just small enough for a reasonably thin child to fit.

Gohan halted, resting his hand on one of the rocks. He took one last look around, still wearing that empty smile. Having apparently confirmed that no one was within sight or earshot, he just as suddenly dropped the façade and the smile, wedged himself into the tiny niche with his arms around his knees, and began to rock back and forth while sobs racked his body.

Piccolo swore he could hear it all the way from the Lookout.

He stood from his meditative posture, pins and needles working their way unnoticed down his legs. "I'm going to him."

Dende nodded without a word.

Using the bare minimum energy that was required for flight, Piccolo pushed off from the Lookout. Gohan was just as attuned to his _ki_ as he was to Gohan's, but he hoped that the boy would be too distracted to notice him coming if he kept his power low. If Gohan wasn't able to avoid him, there was a chance that he would be able to help.

No sooner had Piccolo reached the lower atmosphere than his sensitively-tuned ears picked out the sound of sobs. No longer needing his _ki_-sense to locate his student, he picked up the pace as much as he dared.

As it turned out, he needn't have bothered trying to conceal his _ki_: Gohan didn't even look up when he landed in the clearing, even though Piccolo was standing right in front of him. As Piccolo watched, a few more choked sobs escaped his throat.

After a short moment during which he stood there and Gohan failed to notice him, Piccolo took a step forward, stirring the leaves with his shoes. "Gohan."

Gohan's head shot up with a choking sound. His red-rimmed eyes were wide; he looked like a deer that had been caught in the headlights.

"P-Piccolo?" Raising a hand, he hastily swiped a sleeve across his eyes. "I didn't notice you there," he continued hurriedly, standing up.

"Obviously."

For the moment they simply looked at each other. Gohan still gave out the occasional gasp; he was fighting desperately to get his breathing under control.

"I was out for a walk," Gohan said, breaking the silence with a forced nonchalance, "and I guess I lost track of time. Mom isn't worried about me, is she?"

"Kid—"

"Well, I guess I'd better get home now," Gohan babbled, cutting him off. "Mom'll be wondering where I am, it's almost time for dinner. Say hi to Dende for me, would you?" And with that he quickly turned and ran in the opposite direction, blasting into the air before Piccolo could say anything further.

_I've taught him that to cry is to show weakness_, he realized. _He thinks that to mourn openly will be to lose my respect, and he needs approval now more than ever…_

Piccolo briefly entertained the idea of going after him, but when he felt Gohan's _ki_ return to his home he decided against it. Maybe his mother would have better luck.

* * *

"Gohan, please, just another bite!"

"I'm not hungry."

"You ate five times this much just a few months ago! Just look how skinny you're getting!" ChiChi was near to tears.

"I'm not hungry."

"Gohan, you're a growing boy! You need your—"

A wave of nausea forced her to stop mid-sentence, doubling over as she clapped a hand to her mouth. _Not now!_

"Mom! Mom, are you all right?" Her boy had left his place at the table and was now kneeling beside her chair, looking up at her with his dark eyes filled with concern.

"I'm fine." She forced out a smile; she was supposed to be worrying about Gohan's wellbeing, not the other way around! "The baby—"

Again she was slammed to a halt as her stomach roiled, and this time the sickness was so powerful that she was forced to make a run for the bathroom. Gohan did not follow; he knew from prior experience that she would want to be left alone.

When ChiChi finally managed to raise her head from the toilet, it was to find the house quiet and Gohan's bedroom door closed and locked. Staggering her way back to the kitchen, she found that he had even washed the dishes, though they were so streaky and grease-stained that she knew she would have to do all of them over again. It was the thought that counted, she supposed.

He had not finished his meal.

* * *

This time, it was Krillin who had gone to him.

Piccolo, after his next two efforts had proved as ineffectual as the first, had flown to Kame House and demanded to see the diminutive ex-monk. Krillin had shuffled cautiously out the door, looking intimidated, but had been surprisingly receptive once Piccolo had explained what he wanted.

_"Stop your sniveling and listen," he snapped. "It's about Gohan."_

_ "G-Gohan?" Krillin immediately forgot to be afraid. "Why? What's happened?"_

_ Piccolo then proceeded to explain the incident in the forest. When he had finished, Krillin looked down into the sand, crossing his arms._

_ "Aw man," he said, "I should've known Gohan wouldn't be able to just shrug this off. But why do you want my help?"_

_ Piccolo resisted the urge to slap the man upside the head for his obtuseness. "Because, you idiot, he obviously isn't comfortable talking to me," he growled. "You are one of his closer friends, and as much as I hate to admit it, you'd probably be better at this than I am."_

_ Krillin let out a sigh. "All right," he said. "I'll do it." He then looked up as something else seemed to occur to him. "But you said he's been suppressing his _ki_, how will I find—"_

_ "I'll come and get you." He turned on his heel and flew off before Krillin could reply._

Now, he was standing out of sight with his _ki_ lowered, listening to Krillin come up against the same wall that he had.

"Gohan, it wasn't your fault," the ex-monk said soothingly. "You couldn't have known that Cell—"

"I should have finished him off when I had the chance!" Gohan's voice was filled with self-loathing. "If I hadn't messed around so much, Dad wouldn't—Dad wouldn't have—" He broke down again, apparently unable to finish.

There was a moment of silence, during which a rhythmic rustling of skin against cloth told Piccolo that Krillin was rubbing Gohan's back.

"He wasn't even sad about going." Gohan's voice was very, very quiet, and even Piccolo had to strain to pick it up. "Dad, he… he chose to stay dead. Was he disappointed, because I messed up?"

"Gohan, your father was only doing what he thought was best for the Earth. He was just trying to tell you not to waste your time grieving, and to get on with your life—"

"Well, I _can't!_" There was a surge of power as Gohan's _ki_ spiked. "He was my _dad_, how am I supposed to just stop caring that he's dead?"

"Gohan—"

Gohan, however, was no longer listening. His _ki_ surged again, and then he was moving away from the clearing at breakneck speed.

Piccolo stepped from his hiding place and came to stand next to Krillin, who was still staring stupidly up at the sky. For the moment, neither spoke.

"Well, I tried." Krillin let out a sad sigh.

"And I'm going to _keep_ trying." Piccolo turned his back, and walked a short distance before he once again took to the air.

* * *

ChiChi wasn't staying the nights anymore.

Gohan's nightmares still had not ceased, but his mother had grown too exhausted from maintaining vigil every night. Eventually, during a time when Gohan was absent from the house, Piccolo had sought her out.

_She was working in the garden when he arrived. He stood behind her, waiting, until she finally finished whatever she was doing and stood, cracking her back. She turned around, only to step back with a gasp, dropping the trowel that she had been holding._

_ "H-how long have you been there?"_

_ "At least ten minutes." Piccolo crossed his arms, noting the dark circles under her eyes and how thin she had gotten in spite of her rounding belly._

_ "I—I must not have noticed. You were being so quiet." She bent to pick up the dropped tool._

_ "You were just too exhausted." He noticed her shoulders stiffen as she stood._

_ "What would you have me do?" she asked quietly. "He's my son, Piccolo. I can't just stand by and do nothing while he suffers."_

_ "You're not going to help Gohan by driving yourself to collapse." He tried, very hard, to keep his voice non-confrontational. He had practically been a member of the Son household for the past three years, and he knew how ChiChi would react to any attempts to push her. "You need sleep," he continued when she didn't respond. "I don't. Nights, at least, you can leave Gohan to me." He looked away. "He's my son too."_

She had not responded verbally, then or ever, but then again ChiChi was a proud woman. And she had, for the most part, left nights to him since that day.

Usually, he was sure to leave before sunrise. They might have called a truce during the three years of training for the androids, but that did not make them friends. And he did not want Gohan to be caught in a confrontation between them.

Today, however, he was going to stay in his place until Gohan woke. Today he was going to try something different.

_"Tell me how to fix this!"_

_ "Piccolo—"_

_ "You're a healer," he continued, ignoring the reproachful look Popo gave him from his place behind the young Guardian. "You _must_ know of a way to help him."_

_ Popo took a step forward, opening his mouth, but Dende held up a hand. Popo stopped immediately; it seemed the younger Namekian was learning to wield his authority, child though he was._

_ For a few seconds, Dende chewed his lip. Piccolo waited patiently for his response._

_ "Maybe if you brought him up here…"_

_ Piccolo nodded. "That ought to be easy enough."_

_ "Don't let him know why, though," Dende added hastily. Piccolo nodded again._

So here he was, floating outside of Gohan's window as the sky gradually lightened. Slowly, the sun came up behind him. A ray of light crept in through Gohan's window, inching its way over the bed.

As soon as the light hit his eyelids Gohan blinked, letting out a light groan as he stretched. It was hard to believe that this was the same child who had been thrashing about and screaming only a few short hours ago.

Turning his face to the window, Gohan blinked a few more times. "Piccolo?" he asked sleepily. "What are you doing here?" He halted suddenly, his eyes growing wide as it doubtlessly occurred to him that his mentor was there to force him into continuing their last conversation.

Piccolo cut off that train of thought before it could even get started. "Dende sent me down. He's said he misses you and would like it if you came up to visit him." That much, at least, was true; Piccolo still couldn't bring himself to tell Gohan an outright lie.

"Oh." Gohan blinked several more times; obviously he still wasn't fully awake. "I'd like to," he said, slowly working his way into a sitting position, "but I don't know if Mom will let me. I missed out on a lot of studying the past three years—"

"Dende is a scholar too," Piccolo interrupted; he didn't think it wise to let Gohan think too hard or long about just _why_ his studies had been interrupted. "Given that he also has no interest in fighting, I don't see why there would be a problem with you visiting _him_."

_And if there is,_ he added silently, _I'll be having some words with your mother._

"Well—I'll be sure to ask Mom, then." They stared at each other for a moment longer, neither knowing quite what to say.

Just then, ChiChi's voice rang out from elsewhere in the house. "_Gohan! Breakfast!_"

"Gotta go!" Gohan yelled, jumping out of his bed. "Tell Dende I'll see him soon!"

And Piccolo was left alone outside of the window.

* * *

"So that's what written Namekian looks like?"

"Yes." Paper crinkled as Dende turned another page in his book. "Mr. Popo says this is one of the books he managed to retrieve from Kami's old ship. I didn't have time to get any of mine," Dende continued wistfully.

"That looks so cool!" Gohan leaned forward, pressing his nose to the page. "Do you think you could teach me to read it? Piccolo taught me spoken Namekian, but I don't think he really knows how to read…"

"Of course." Gohan grinned at the prospect. "But do you think you could teach me to read in your language too?" Dende continued. "I'm like you, I only ever learned how to speak it, and learning from Mr. Popo is…"

Piccolo turned away from the two children, tuning out their chatter as he assumed his meditative position. Though Dende had asked him not to leave the Lookout, he had also said that whatever it was he had planned would go more smoothly if Gohan didn't think he was paying attention. Therefore, the best course of action was not to pay attention.

Soon, their conversation became mere background noise as he sank into his customary trance. It wasn't long before it faded from his consciousness altogether.

Hours later, some tweak of his subconscious mind cued Piccolo to come out of his meditation. Opening his eyes, he found that night had fallen, and Dende was standing beside him. The tickle he had felt had been Gohan's retreating _ki_.

"How did it go?" he asked without preamble, unfolding his legs.

"As well as can be expected." Dende did not elaborate, and Piccolo did not ask him to.

* * *

The months drifted past. Gohan continued to come to the Lookout to spend time with Dende, and once to announce the birth of his brother. His wanderings in the woods had ceased, through his nightmares had not.

He also continued to shy away from any mention of training. So it was that when Piccolo felt a flare of Gohan's _ki_, much greater than that required for mere flight, his head snapped up in alarm as he was jolted from his meditation. Even more ominous was the way in which Gohan's power immediately faded back down again.

Piccolo could feel no opposing _ki_ – but that needn't mean anything. He hadn't been able to sense any of the androids either. Not waiting to consult Dende, he pushed his _ki_ down as low as he could manage and still fly. Discarding his weighted gear, he leaped from the edge of the Lookout and made a beeline for his student.

There was another flare of Gohan's power, so brief and fleeting that Piccolo doubted anyone else would be able to sense it. Biting back a curse, he mercilessly restrained his urge to drop all caution and fly straight to the Son house. If Gohan, the most powerful being on the planet, was in trouble, Piccolo would not be able to help him by rushing in at full power. No, he knew full well that his best chance was stealth, and the element of surprise.

As soon as he got close enough, he landed amidst the trees, counting on his green skin and dark clothing to hide him from view, and continued to dart forward on foot. He had nearly reached the edge of the foliage when he heard Gohan's voice.

"You like that?" A laugh. "Okay, then…"

Piccolo peeked out from around the nearest tree. There, in front of his house, was Gohan, sitting in the grass across from a small child – his brother. As Piccolo watched, Gohan covered his eyes.

"Peeka – BOO!"

As he uttered the last syllable he uncovered his face, his aura flaring around him as his suddenly-gold hair stood on end. As soon as he achieved the transformation, however, Gohan let it go, his _ki_ fading as his appearance returned to normal.

The child clapped his pudgy hands, letting out a high-pitched squeal of delight that sent jolts of pain through Piccolo's ears, but put a smile on Gohan's face. Still grinning, Gohan repeated the trick.

That was a _real_ smile…

Piccolo looked again at the delighted baby. That child, with his innocent delight and unbridled affection, had done for Gohan what all Piccolo's advice, Krillin's reassurances, and ChiChi's forced cheer had not. Finally, at long last, he was beginning to heal.

_This is Gohan as he should be_, Piccolo thought. The scene in front of him seemed so incredibly _right_. Hard on the heels of that thought, however, came another.

_I've ruined him…_

Right at that moment, he was seeing Gohan as he would have been if Piccolo had never been a part of his life. A child who was actually a child, without tears or pain or the eyes of someone much older looking out of his face…

Abruptly Piccolo turned on his heel and walked away from the house, back toward the Lookout. Gohan didn't need him anymore, and what's more, he never should have.

_I'm sorry, my son_, he thought as he took to the air. _I'm so sorry for all that I've done to you._

As he flew, Piccolo took a moment to marvel at the power of a child's love. In that small body was the power to mend a broken soul – or redeem a Demon King.

Back at the Son home, Gohan briefly paused in his playing, cocking his head slightly as if in pursuit in a sound that no one else could hear. Goten, wondering why the game had stopped, clapped his hands once or twice, and when that failed, started babbling nonsense in an effort to recapture his brother's attention.

"_Gohan! Time for lunch!_"

The spell was broken. Shaking his head, Gohan picked up his brother and carried him back into the house.

Just inside the doorway, however, he paused, sparing one last glance in the direction of the Lookout before he went inside.

* * *

**A/N:** This idea originally started as a flashback in _Fulfilling the Oath_. I don't think I need to explain why it became its own story.

Though I don't think that after the Cell Games Gohan was the angry, angsty, borderline-suicidal emotional wreck that he's often written as, there's no way he was completely okay either - he'd just had to save the world from a monster, his father had died and he probably blamed himself, and don't even get me started on the trauma most likely caused by Goku's many horrible decisions during that arc. It's also a pet theory of mine that Goten was the one to bring him out of it - those two really are adorable together.

Given Piccolo's rather epic chewing-out of Goku during the Cell Games, I often wondered whether he ever regretted having been the first to drag Gohan into battle. Personally, I think that he did; but as Piccolo's not one to voice his thoughts I often have to guess at what's going on in his head.


End file.
